


The Life of A Fool

by freeshootinxig



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: (This story contains child abuse - domestic violence - and rape. It is not for the faint of heart.), LeFou is going to tell Gaston how he feels - and reflects on his life up until then, M/M, Situated just before the mob goes to the Beast's castle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freeshootinxig/pseuds/freeshootinxig
Summary: Today, LeFou plans to confront Gaston, before they storm the castle with their pitchforks and Torches. He plans to tell him what he suspects his friend already knows - that he is a 'Sodomite' and that he is horribly, irrevocably in love with the man.He can only hope that the night will not end with him dangling at the gallows, eyes unseeing, and his neck broken.So as he heads to his friends house, for the scariest talk of his existence, he reflects upon his life as he knows it.{This story will be told from the first-person standpoint for most of the chapters, and switch to third person later on.)





	1. A broken childhood

**The Life of a Fool**

  
-{Chapter 1}-

  
My name is Lafeyette Duval. I come from a little french village, surrounded by woods.

And today - I am likely going to die.

~

....Perhaps I should step back a bit, and go to the beginning of my tale, and hope that I have the time needed to _share_ it with you, Mon Ami.  
It all started twenty long years ago, when I was but a child, having moved to the village with my Ma'man and Papa'. Eight years old, shy, and cowardly, I stood out from the other children in town - and not in a good way. I was too short - my hair was too long, my eyes too wide, and my lips too pouty - just like a girls.

  
And I even cried just like one. Or so I was told.

I was supposedly the shortest male in the Duval line - and the least manly. I wasn't that bright, couldn't keep up with the classes at the school, struggled with my letters and numbers, to the point that the teacher had to keep me after school one day. Eventually he got fed up with me, and called me a fool, before fetching my father, who sat stone-still next to me, as my teacher told him that I would not amount to anything. I was afraid. My father was not a kind man - not when it came to me. For from day one, I was a disappointment to him. Instead of liking the outdoors - I wished to stay with Ma'man. I liked my combs, my brushes - my long baths, and my ribbons - and every day, I could hear them arguing late at night, when they thought that I couldn't hear. Father always shouted terribly loud, now that I think on it - and my mother was often sobbing at the end of it.

He shouted many things - things I didn't understand at that age. That I was not shaping up, that I was uneducated, that my name, which meant _'fate',_ was ill-suited for me, and that I was **_LeFou_** \- the _fool_ of the family - the embarrassment that he hated to speak of in public. He made it very clear to me, though he never said it to my face, and pretended otherwise when we had company, that I was worth to him as much as the slop fed to the pigs.

  
_Nothing._

 

But I did my best not to show how much it hurt me. For my Ma'man was trying so hard to try and convince me that that he didn't mean what Papa' said, though I'm sure that she knew I knew at some point - and it had become routine by that point.

I smiled - I _laughed_ \- and I buried my hurt where no one could see it.

~

One day, some boys from the school approached me. My father had pulled me out some days ago, saying that their lessons were wasted on me, being that I was a fool, that I could not be taught, and that I would not amount to anything. I believed him. And so it was, that they laughed at me, having heard the story from their father, who heard it from mine, one late night at the tavern, where he proclaimed loudly how worthless I was.

I remember the feeling of hot tears on my cheeks - the embarrassment, the humiliation that stemmed from the fact that I was now being bullied by boys who had until recently been friends with me. They pushed me down into the mud - ruined the shirt my Ma'man had made me, laughing at me - calling me LeFou instead of Lafeyette, just as my father did with me.

"Stop it", I had cried - sobbing grossly in the mud, even as they kicked me this way and that, bruising me beneath my clothing. And from a distance - I could see him - my father. I cried for him, begged for him to help, and for a few seconds, the pain stopped, and my previous classmates paused - poised to run if he came thundering over.

He didn't.

He gave me a look of utter _contempt,_ spat to the side, and left.

 

He left me there - and I felt my heart break that day, for the first time. Not from a first love - not from the loss of a family member, but from that crushing realization that my father hated me so much, that he would not even lift a finger to save me if I _needed_ it. They laughed at me, and kicked me harder, claiming that even my father knew how stupid I was, that I was weak, that I would likely die from the plague, which was making its way through the region - and I cried harder, fearing that very thought.

I'm ashamed to admit that I called for my Ma'man at some point, though she could not hear me.

I thought I was doomed to endure their cruelty forever - when someone shouted, and crashed into the one who has been shoving his face into the mud. A chunk of my hair was ripped out - the other had held onto it in order to keep me down, and I whimpered, covering my head as the sounds of violence, much worse than I had just been suffering, filled the air around me. I was afraid to look up..

When the quiet came - I took a chance, and tentatively peeked over my arm.

In front of me was a boy who stood about a foot taller than me, with three others in the background. They were all panting, exhausted from the fight - but my eyes were glued to the first, who leaned towards me, one hand offered, despite my messy state, to help me up. He said something - but I couldn't hear what it was. I was struck by how _beautiful_ he was.

Like an _angel_ , with the sun as the halo over his head.

  
He repeated himself, having asked if I was alright, and I nodded, before using his hand to pull myself upright. Instantly, I regretted the action, and sunk back onto my knees, arms hugging my stomach, which had taken the brunt of the bullies kicks.

"Stanley - go get your Ma'man. Tom, Dick - go find out where those jerks live - I'm gonna tell my dad about them afterwards. He's the mayor - he'll do something about it."

I'd listened numbly as the other two ran off, before I was left with him - Gaston, as he introduced himself. He told me to relax - that he was going to carry me, since I was clearly in need of assistance - and he picked me up. I think he realized I was not as light as he'd hoped, from the way his face scrunched up - but he didn't drop me. He carried me all the way to the barbers shop, where 'Stanley' was waiting with his mother. She patched me up - and soothed me as I cried, after recounting what happened - leaving out, of course, what my father had done upon seeing me. Because I knew that If I painted him as the cold monster he seemed to be, and revealed him to the public, no one would believe me. They would call me a liar - and tell him - and when they'd all left, I would be the one suffering at the end of my fathers belt, until all that remained of my back was welts.

 _No_ \- it was better to be quiet.

~

In the coming weeks, I saw more and more of the others - and after a while, tried saying hello for the first time. The first time, I don't think they recognized me - not without all that mud and snot caking my face, because they looked at each other, and wandered off.  
I was discouraged - and thought better of trying again. I stayed home, same as I always did - until one day, he came.

_Gaston._

He'd come to see if the crying girl had gotten better yet, after suffering at the hands of the village brutes, with flowers in hand. I'd never suffered such embarrassment - and I quickly told him that she was not available at the moment, resting, and that she got sick around flowers. He'd seemed disappointed - but it was for the best.

  
Because if my father had seen - I hate to think what he'd say.

~

In the coming weeks, however - Gaston kept coming - day after day, with different gifts in hand, and I was struggling to come up with excuses, for I was running out of them - tired from the lies, knowing that he would likely hate me when he knew the truth.

So I tried avoiding him.

I should have known better. It had only been my watchful gaze that prevented him from coming to the front door, from banging on it, and demanding to see the damsel in distress that he had so heroically rescued, and now wished to speak to.

My mother opened the door - and she was as confused as she was when she told him she had no daughter, that he should try the house next door, since he appeared lost. Then, she politely closed the door - waiting till Gaston had gone, before looking at me.  
"Lafeyette---what have you done?", she asked - tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ma'man - I was beat up - he couldn't tell what I looked like, and he took me to the barbers wife to get fixed up. But the next day, he came, wanting to speak to the girl he though he'd saved and I didn't know how to turn him away - so I kept lying, telling him she was still unwell, so that he'd give up, and stop trying - I didn't think he'd come to the door."

_"A **likely** story."_

~

He had heard.

 _Of course_ my father had heard, and he'd slapped me so hard across the face that day, calling me a heathen, filth, a - _sodomite_ \- whatever that was. Claimed that I had lured that poor boy to my aid with my evil charms, that I was headed towards hell, that I was a smear on the family name. And he beat me - right there in front of my Ma'man, telling her that she had raised me poorly while he was off working, that I was no son of his.

That I had come from - _"-a foul womb-",_ he'd said.

My mother had gasped - and clutched her heart. The next thing I knew, she was on the floor - and my father was white - and yelling for me to fetch the doctor. I was terrified - not for myself, but my Ma'man, so of course I went to do that.

We found out she'd fainted under stress - and he blamed me for it. Told me if I loved my mother at all, that I would do whatever was necessary to fix myself, to be the son she truly deserved, because otherwise, she would cease to love me as well. So I promised it - to him, and to myself. I promised that I would do whatever it took to become 'fixed', to not be this _'sodomite'_ thing that he called me, before my mother took ill, so that she would be well - and I would not lose her love.

...

Yes... _thats_ where it all began.  
But there is still so much to tell. Sit down, _Mon Ami..._ this will take a while.

-{Chapter **1** : End}-


	2. The Sound of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have not yet gotten better for LeFou. The cruelty of his father endures for yet another year, drawing close to a second, before an incident occurs that forces a drastic change in him - to stand up for himself and his mother for the first time.

-{Chapter 2}-

 

It took a week for my mother to regain enough strength to get out of bed. And when she did - she was terribly frail - her face drawn, and her hands cold when I held them. I tried to do my best to be the son she deserved. I took over the cleaning of the house - the cooking - I tried to do whatever I could to ease her burden - to let her rest.

Though I had _good_ intentions - I think my father saw something else.

Where my mother saw her sons desire to take care of her, and thanked me every day for my effort, for looking after her when she should be looking after me, my father saw something else. He saw a filthy boy - learning the habits of _women,_ to better seduce _men_. He cussed me out when I tried to do the laundry, declaring that I would not touch the clothing of himself and his wife with such filthy hands - and forced me to scrub them for hours, until they were red, and nearly bleeding, before he dubbed them clean enough to touch things.

And that wasn't the only time he forced me to do so. I noticed that he did the same when I was to wash the dishes - purposely making the water hot enough to burn my hands - to boil the devil out of me, he said. I argued with him - stating that the devil came from a land of flames, that the hot wouldn't drive him out - and he backhanded me.

But I think something of what I said stuck - for that night, instead of letting me take a bath, he ordered me to go bathe in the pond instead - to freeze the devil out.

I don't think I had ever been quite so cold - and I fell sick soon after. My Ma'man was horrified to learn of what I did - and why - though my father tried to spin a tale to make it seem like it had all been my idea - I had gone swimming with a friend of mine.

 _"What friend?"_ , she had cried - pushing at his fathers chest. "You don't let him outside anymore", she stated - jabbing him in the chest as though she could drive the point she was making home that much clearer. And I saw it. The red flush that crossed his face whenever his temper was hitting a boiling point. He roared - and fell upon my mother like a beast.

I remember hearing her sobbing afterwards - and I was too afraid to come out of my hiding, hidden behind my door, long after my father had stormed out to the tavern. But when I did - I cried - and I held my mother, and she held me - the two of us crying in each others arms. I apologized over and over again, telling her how sorry I was that I could not be the son my father wanted, that he took it out on her, when she was not to blame.

She hugged me close, and told me that I was _never_ to talk like that. My father was a _beast,_ and he was not worthy of a son like me, she said - pressing kisses across my cheeks and forehead, despite the fact that hers was bruised, and her lip split.

My mother was bruised - and fell back into poor health once more. But this time, it was not a sickness of the body that kept her bedridden - but a sickness of the **_heart._** My father had broken my poor mothers heart that day, proving that his love for her was only there when it was convenient - that she was as much his doormat, as I was his punching bag.

I couldn't stand for it - and I was determined to do something. But I wouldn't get the chance to do so for quite some time - till the summer of the following year.

 

~

 

I was almost _ten_ now. I had filled out a little bit more - in good and bad ways. My face was the tiniest bit less feminine - my hair was still long, but I had muscle to my arms and legs. My stomach, unfortunately, was plump - a side effect of all the buns my mother made, and the sweet pastries she gave me on the sly - her way of trying to inject some happiness into my life, when I had no other way of achieving it.

It had been some time since I'd been outside - and for a change, my father had declared rather loudly that he was going to the tavern, that he would be back very late.

The moment he'd faded from sight, my Ma'man had shooed me out the door, telling me with insistence that I would have few chances to do what I wished - to take advantage of it while I could. She pressed ten Franc's into my hand, and told me to go and buy myself a bowtie - for I would be ten soon, the age when all children got their portraits done for the first time.

I had been _estatic_ \- and my hair by this point had grown long past my shoulders - almost reaching the small of my back, due to the fact that I had not visited the barbers for so long, that I expected everyone would have forgotten me. And to my disappointment, it was true. There was no recognition in the face of Stanley's mother, or in his either.

I swallowed back a lump that threatened to be a sob - knowing that the year of imprisonment my father had essentially forced upon me had cost me what could have been a friend.

With my eyes still wet, I had turned away, and gone to buy the bowtie as instructed.

But of course, nothing could ever be simple.

 

~

 

Though my father stated he would be at the tavern late that night, he had not been drunk enough that he would not recognize his own flesh and blood as I passed the window, with my head hanging. I can only imagine his fury, how people had backed away, for my father, Monsieur Duval, was a terrible man when he was angry and drunk.

The door had been thrown open - I heard his voice.

**_"LeFou!"_ **

It chilled me to the bone - made my knees knock together with fear, and I nearly wet myself on the spot as I heard those thunderous steps coming my way.

I didn't hesitate to _run_.

His shout followed me - and I ran as long and as far as I could, knocking right past a group of children who were older than me - taller than me - and likely stronger than me. Their shouts frightened me - but not as badly as my father's in the distance, and I ran until my lungs were empty, until my eyes burned, and my stomach heaved.

 

I'm not sure what happened after that. I think I passed out from oxygen loss - for when I woke up, I saw four blurry faces swimming in front of me. Blinking cut them down to two, and from there, to one. It was a familiar face - one I could _not_ forget.

Lips were drawn in a thin line - and his face was one of annoyance - annoyance at me - and I realized he must have been in the group of boys I barreled past. I felt my heart thud dully in my chest, felt my stomach churn in my gut as I looked up at him, and a flood of apologies fell from my lips, my body curling in on itself as if I expected to be struck.

I remember the look of confusion, of shock and - _concern_ \- that had crossed his face.

"Calm yourself - I'm not going to hurt you."

 

My apologies faded into silence, and he dragged my arms from my head. I saw his face - saw how he looked at me, like he was trying to read a difficult section of words upon a page. His eyes widen - and his hands released my arms like he was bitten by a snake.

 

"It was _you,"_ he said - his voice hushed.

I blinked fat tears from my eyes, uncomprehending.

  
"You---her---that **_girl_** \----but."

  
I could see how his eyes lingered on my face - seeing the changes.

  
"You're---a _**guy?"**_

 

I felt my heart sink into my stomach at those words. "I don't know what you're talking about", I said numbly, even as I hugged myself, my body feeling cold all of a sudden.

"Of course you do - all those lies - you were trying to get rid of me. After what I did for you? All I wanted to do was check up on you, and you act like that?"

The words fell from my lips - so soft - so quiet, that they could have been a sob.

"I _had_ to."  
  
"Why?!"  
  
_"My **father."**_

Gaston didn't understand - but I could see how that reply brought him up short. I could see how cogs were turning in his head - how he looked down on me - no. _At_ me.

Like he was taking in something else. And I knew what it was when he gingerly reached out, and a hand brushed my shirt collar to the side. When I looked down, I saw exactly what I didn't want to - the fading bruises upon my skin from where I had fallen one day after a particularly hard hit from my father, and fallen against the table. The pointed corner had dug in just below my collarbone, and bruised skin bad enough that I was forced to wear my undershirt completely buttoned to hide it, despite the heat.

Today, however - I'd been in such a hurry to leave, that I'd forgotten to do so.

"I have to go home."  
  
_"Wait---"_  
  
_"I'm **sorry!"**_

I pushed him away - and ran for home.  
I couldn't involve him, and I knew he was already thinking of doing something about it. I could tell from the look in his eyes.

And I couldn't let him come to my house again. My father was already convinced I was a _'sodomite'_ \- a boy who loved other boys. He'd drummed that word into my head, taught me what a sin it was to look upon another male, and see them as worthy of my love.  
That I was worthy of their love, when my eyes should only focus on women.

...

Looking back on it now - I can't help but wonder if my father had gone mad at some point, to try and drive this all home into the mind of a ten year old, who couldn't even spell.

And other days...I can't help but wonder if he had ever been sane at all.

 

~

 

When I got home - I had planned to turn myself in for the punishment I knew he would want to give. I didn't expect to hear my mother shrieking inside the house.

Something was wrong. Young as I was, I knew that my mother should not make those sounds, that she had never done so, not even in the throes of fever.

I'd run into the house - and I'd saw him - holding her against the table, saw the hem of her dress forced up past her waist, saw the tears on her face. I saw how horror entered her eyes as she saw me standing in the doorway, and I heard her sob more as my father pushed their bodies together forcefully, and blood ran down the back of her legs.

 

I didn't know what it was called then.

But it was **_not_ ** going to continue.

 

I had suffered years of torment at the hands of my father - I had watched him slap her around, the same as me, when he thought she was disobedient.

But at that moment - in that kitchen - I saw **_red._** I felt something terrible rise up inside of me, and I grabbed the sharpest thing that was within reach. I fell upon my fathers back, raking a steak knife down it, over and over, screaming at him.

 

 ** _"Don't_ ** you hurt my mother like that, I _hate_ you, I'll _**kill**_ you, you are _not_ my father---"

So many vile sentences streamed from my mouth at that moment, and I even now, I still can't believe I said them. When he knocked me back and away, I could see the damage my flailing at his back had done. There were thick, bloody lines down his body, and he turned on me next.

His boot crashed into my face, and broke my nose. His leg hit my side, and I was knocked to the ground. I could hear my Ma'man crying for me to run - and I did - stumbling, my vision blurry from the blow my father had struck me with. I could hear him thundering after me, I could hear my own screams as he chased me - roaring in my ears.

I didn't make it twenty steps before he caught me, and gave me the worst beating of my life. I couldn't see through the pain, couldn't make a noise with how much air was forced from my lungs, couldn't hear anything beyond the rush of blood in my ears and the crunch of ribs inside me. I was certain of one thing before long.

  
I was going to _die._

 _ **This**_ was the day my father would kill me.

 

And but a few seconds after that thought finally pierced my mind, and I was ready to surrender to that blackness, I heard it. A boom of thunder.

I expected _rain_ \- but I didn't expect it to be **_red._**

 

I didn't expect my father's weight to grow so heavy all of a sudden - part of the side of his head missing, blood bubbling from his lips as it sprayed across me - painting my face, my vest, my once-white undershirt with a red that was not my own for a change. He choked - he gasped - and then he was falling to the side.

He hit the ground - and a _new_ shadow fell over me.

And all at once - that terrified flutter in my heart grew still.

  
Standing over me - _pale_ as a _sheet_ , a hunting rifle held in shaking hands, was...

  
_**...Gaston.** _

  
-{Chapter 2: End}-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Writing at 5 am is probably not the best idea, but once I have an idea in my head, it won't leave until its out. With that said, I hope you all enjoy the next installment of this little fiction of mine, and that it will tide you over until the next one is done.]


	3. Winds of change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his father dead, LeFou and his mother struggle to find some semblance of normalcy - to fill the gaps where his loud voice once filled the room with tales they didn't care for. Luckily - they didn't have to struggle for that long, as another person became a constant presence in their life - and a more positive one at that, that they greatly enjoyed having around.

-{Chapter 3}-

 

I remember - vaguely - how the other male hauled the corpse of my father off of me - and kneeled in front of me - hands holding my face as he turned my head this way and that, looking for any injuries that might make me sick upon moving.

  
I had bruises - blood seeped from my hair - and my nose was broken - but aside from that, I had managed to shield my head from the worst of the damage. After assessing my state, he'd lifted me off the ground - and I...to this day, I have trouble thinking back on what happened. I remember looking over his shoulder as he carried me towards my house, felt a strange throb in my heart as my gaze settled on the body we were leaving.

Though I hated him - enough that I'd wanted to kill him, I also weeped for him. Just like I weeped for my mother - and myself, sobbing with my cheek against Gastons shoulder.

At the time - abuse or no abuse, I was still just a boy.

  
A boy who wanted the acceptance and love of both parents, though I knew my father would never love me - I had always kept a fragile hope. A hope that someday - I would be able to make him look at me with pride - even if it meant enduring my pain, swallowing back my sobs over the years, until I was finally good enough. I would understand later, after many years, that my mother was right. My father had never deserved me as a son - and I needn't have tried so hard to win him over.

Because family is who cares for you - and not necessarily always who shares your blood.

~

The feeling of a damp, cold rag on my face was what brought me back to reality. I assume I had blacked out at some point - for when I opened my eyes, I was in my house, held in my Ma'mans lap. Her face was tear-stained, and she crooned a song as she stroked my hair, trying to ease me from whatever nightmare I had woken up from.

When I looked to see who held the rag - it was him. Gaston. I remembered then what happened, sitting up with a start - before lying back against my mother with a gasp of pain. Both of them scolded me for moving so soon, and told me to be still while I was tended to.

Gaston told me that he had dragged the body away - and had hidden it in the woods, where few people ever went, save for the spring and summertime hunting trips. Wolves would likely dispose of him, the other male had said, and I'd nodded numbly, trying not to let the image of such ferocious creatures into my mind.

My mother told me that he'd fetched medicine from the Apothecary for her - using a small sum of Franc's she trusted him to use wisely. And she thanked him then - with me held in her arms, tears in her eyes, for saving her precious baby boy from my father.

She also cried for him - taking his hands in her own, lamenting that such a young boy - though he was older than me by years, had been forced to take the life of another human. Gaston had tried to play it off - to say that it was just another beast - but the words were hollow to hear. There was a tremble in his hands - an anguish in his eyes - and she'd pulled him close as well, hugging him like she was his mother too.

Though we were saved - I know that me and my mother both feared for Gaston - feared what it might do to his mind, if horrible thoughts were able to fester. But....he bounced back faster than we expected. After an hour of so of resting heavily against my Ma'mans side, allowing her to stroke his hair - he had pulled away, and announced that he was going to return home. He was glad to have helped - but his own father must be worried by this time. I don't think he mentioned anything about his mother.

 

Maybe he didn't _have_ one.

 

Either way - we watched from the window as Gaston headed into town, before my Ma'man took me to the bathroom, and helped me clean up. I did the same for her, washing the blood from her hair, before we took turns cleaning up as best as we could. When most of the evidence was covered, I took a bucket of water, and poured it over where my father had lain, to wash away the drying blood.  It took several attempts, and even then, I couldn't be sure I had gotten it all.

  
I hoped it would be enough.

 

~

 

My fathers friends from the tavern came to visit a few days later. I answered the door - and I heard their collective gasps as they looked upon my bruised face - before one of them carefully asked if my father was home. I whispered a hoarse _'no',_ before closing the door.

  
They didn't come back.

 

But the next day - when my father was absent for the fifth night, the Mayor sent a few people out to look for him. They checked the fields - they checked the hotel - and eventually, men disappeared into the woods, to see if they could find him, off on a solo hunting trip.

Me and mother waited for many hours - and when we saw the torches again, saw the way that they called for a cart, that they had found him. As Gaston said - the wolves had been attracted to the body - and they'd made short work of him, leaving mostly bones, with the odd scraps of flesh still clinging to him. There was a funeral, and we attended, of course, playing out the part of 'grieving' wife and son perfectly. When the crowd left - and it was just the two of us remaining, my mother _spat_ on his grave.

 

"Come, Lafeyette. It is time to go home."

She held out her hand - and despite the fact that I was old enough not to hang onto it, I chose to, and we walked in silence back home.

 

We had a quiet dinner. It became obvious to me that most of the conversations that were ever had, consisted of whatever Father wished to shout about, and he expected us to listen, to ask him questions like we were his adoring public. I hated the silence - the void, in which we struggled to talk. My mother sighed - and rubbed her brows. She didn't know what to do.

Neither did I.

But we were _saved_ \- I think, by the way our door was suddenly _kicked in._

"Mademoiselle Duval - and - LeFou - are you in?  
I have brought brought stew - _rabbit,_ of course, since no one in their right mind would use anything less for it!"

 

Gaston, as it turned out - was more than ready to 'barge' into things, and we found ourselves with him in our presence, more often than not. He would bring wild game from hunting trips with his father - or heaping pots of stew. It was more than we were normally able to eat - and we did our best to make things stretch, since Father, when he was alive, was not as good a hunter as he boasted to be, bringing game back very rarely. Those were the days in which our diets had meat - something we now had plenty of. I found myself smiling more - chatting happily with Gaston as he became a near-permanent fixture in our house, always taking up that seat that had been so unbearably empty that day, bringing tales of grandeur, telling us of this buck, or that rabbit, that he'd helped his own father bring down.

There were, of course, days when my mother cooked, and he said his praises of it, saying that my mothers love could be tasted through it.

I had asked - probably impolitely, considering how sudden it had been, if his mother made buns and pastries as well.  
The smile had fallen from his face.

 

"I don't have one."

 

There was something _fragile_ in the way that he said that - and my mother was quick to sweep him into another hug - telling him that he was more than welcome to eat with us whenever he wished. He thanked her - and his smile, though it was weak, eventually returned. He admitted at some point, that she had died during childbirth. He had been a large baby - and it caused complications - or so his father told him. Thankfully - his father was more than up to the task of raising a child alone.

He was the _mayor,_ after all - and the village was full of children that he looked after...some who had not yet grown up, though they were the size of grown men. That provoked some giggles from my mother and me, and cheerful conversation filled the air once more.

~

Gaston, as I would learn later, was Seven years and one month older than me. Though he was seventeen, he admitted that his facial hair had not yet grown in, and that he doubted he would get anything beyond sideburns for many years - since his father had the same issue in his youth. I remembered something my mother had once told me.

 _"Eggs_ make you strong," I said, nodding my head as though I knew what I was talking about.

"They do? Hmmm. Then I shall eat four dozen a day!"

I thought that might make him sick, but he looked so pleased with his idea, proclaiming that they would help him to fill out his physique, that I couldn't bring myself to dissuade him. I did, however, have to ask my mother what the word 'physique' _meant,_ and she told me that it was just a fancy word to refer to the shape of ones body.

Personally, I thought Gaston had a nice Physique. He wasn't too tall - didn't have awkward, short legs like I did, or excessively long arms like Tom did. His feet weren't as big as Dicks, and his hair was almost as nice as Stanleys.

I say _almost_ as nice - because while both of them put their hair up nicely, Stanley's was _clean_.

 

As the weeks went on, I found myself hanging out with them more and more often, and soon, I was tagging along with them everywhere. Though I couldn't read - I tried to learn to do so. I wanted to fit in that much better, so I might not need their help when ordering from the restaurant. But Gaston saw my struggles. He saw how I fumbled over my letters - and asked me if I could spell anything at all. I told him I could spell my name.

L-e-F-o-u.

I told him that I was trying to read, so I could be _smart_ like them. Gaston waved my words away, picked up my book - and put it back on mothers shelf.

"Books are for weirdos. You're fine the way you are, and you are certainly not _stupid,_ my friend," he told me, even as he hauled me out of my house, and off to join him and the others. They told me they were going on a hunt - that I was invited. I told them I didn't know how to shoot. Gaston laughed, and claimed that _they_ didn't either - which provoked Tom and Dick to tackle him to the ground. I stood back with Stanley and watched as they wrestled, until Gaston came out victorious.

Was there nothing he couldn't do? He was heroic - he could read and write, he could wrestle. The man was clever and smart, was skilled at throwing darts, and was sneaky - able to creep up on whatever animal he was hunting, and bag it as his prize, before they realized he had gotten close.

 

_My, what a **guy,** that Gaston._

 

However....I did find some _flaws_ in him as well.

Like the other fellas, he became dopey whenever one of the triplets wandered through - all giggles and fluttering eyelashes, that made it hard to see their eyes in the first place.  
_Gross_ , I'd thought then, wrinkling my nose at the thought of kissing one of them, as Gaston occasionally did, picking up a hand, and pressing lips to the back of it. ** _Gross_** , I thought, whenever the older teens spoke of their conquests, of how soft women were. Being ten years old, in a crowd of hormone-driven teenagers was right odd, I thought.

It was four years later, when I found that women held no interest for me, that my gaze often wandered to the strong arms of men, and my mind realized how weak their voices made me feel deep down, that I came to terms with what I truly was.

A **_Sodomite_** \- a male who loved other males.

I felt _shame_ in the fact - knowing that I had broken my promise to my father - something I'd tried hard to keep even after his death, so I wouldn't break my Ma'mans heart. But I wasn't able to keep it from her. We had also made a promise, the same year he died, that we would not hide any secrets from each other.

I cried when I told her. She cried when she held me.

"My precious son, my _beautiful_ baby boy - Lafeyette, how could you think I would find you _disgusting?"_

I told her what my father had said.

  
That knowing would break her heart. And her face fell as she realized just to what extent the man who 'raised' me had broken me. She kissed my forehead - and she told me, that there was no devil-tainted filth in her house, whatever my father had said.

Only her _son_ \- who was free to love whom he wished, regardless of what shape they came in, and what lay hidden under his clothing. But she also warned me - I must be _careful,_ if I chose to one day pursue men. The town was not forgiving - and we both knew it. I promised her - I would take great care to ensure my secret remained that. And I also promised myself along the way that I would still try to fix myself as I went. Because - for all her acceptance - and the happiness it gave me - I knew I could not take the risk. I could not let myself like boys any further - if I were to keep up the role of a _'normal young boy',_ with interests focused on hunting or girls.

 

I told myself I would be able to _change_ who I was at heart.

I wonder now, how many people came _before_ me, and how many will come _after_ me, who thought the same thing.

 

-{Chapter 3: End}-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Those who have read along till now will be able to see that, for the most part, things are beginning to look up for LeFou. As with any story - there will be ups and downs - and the storm has calmed for now. I will see about writing another chapter soon!]


	4. The rage of a mob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been some years since Lefou has realized that he was a sodomite - a man who loved other men. And during these years, he has tried to correct himself - failing at every turn, until he simply accepts his fate. After all - a man who only looked, and did not touch, ran little risk of being discovered, and hung for being something that was not accepted by the village.
> 
>  
> 
> But one day - he would learn how the village viewed and sentenced sodomites to death - as a horrified face in a crowd.

-{Chapter 4}-

 

"LeFou, mon Ami! Come here - I want to introduce you to Lisa!"

  
"Coming!"

 

It was a typical evening in the Tavern. Tom, Dick, and Stanley were drinking off to the side, and the three Bimbette sisters were fawning over Gaston, as usual, while the banker's daughter sat off to the side, looking just as bored as I'd been a moment ago. No sooner had I approached my friend, than an arm was thrown around my shoulders, and he dragged me close, bringing Lisa and I to each others attention.

"Lisa - mon Cheri, this is my friend LeFou - the son of Madamoiselle Duval. You know the one, don't you? She runs that little fashion shop out of her house."

Indeed - over the last four years, my mother had found skill in working with numerous fabrics. She made clothes for me all the time, and I was almost always sporting some new outfit, bordering on fancy, while also staying casual. But as much as I loved the comfy vests, the soft undershirts, and the woolen shirts in winter, none of what she made compared to my favorite article of clothing - the ribbons. Every day, I wore a new one about my neck, fashioned in the same style as a bow tie. And I noticed I wasn't the only one. Stanley also visited my Ma'man's shop every now and then, to purchase her comfortable silk and undershirts. We both had an appreciation for the finer things, like most of the women in the village, believing that - despite the risk that such things may tear much sooner, they gave us an edge up in appearance.

And truly - I believed it did. I knew I was not ugly - but when I wore these bow ties, I felt - attractive.  
_Pleasing_ on the eyes, despite my round stomach.

While I was not like the others - who were hitting their twenties, aside from Stanley, who was but a year younger than me, I still got stares from some of the girls in the village who found my chubby, cheerful nature to be cute and appealing.

 

Though I could not truly return their affections - I _tried._

  
_God,_ how I tried.

  
When they flirted - I flirted back. I learned the art of seduction by watching the others - and for a time, things went well. I was even able to snag a girlfriend at fifteen - and for the first time, I thought that life had finally begun to go my way. It was four years too late - but I believed that I was finally fixed. We dated for months - went the whole nine yards. I courted her properly - and truly - I knew I _liked_ her. I enjoyed her company very much.

But when it came to those teasing squeezes to my thigh, the way she rested against me and batted those eyes...

  
...none of the things she tried, ever really garnered a _physical_ reaction to her actions.

 

I felt no urge to take her to bed, essentially. I was attracted to her personality - and not her body. I wondered if I was not a sodomite after all - but simply defective, when a year later, we tried to copulate in the barn behind her house, and 'things' didn't respond. She'd been hurt at first - had asked if she wasn't attractive enough. I felt a lot of guilt, and I held her hands as I apologized. I told her she was lovely. That she was _beautiful_ \- like the sun, with her golden hair, and her eyes, blue as the clearest lake water.

 

She asked me then - _why?_  
Why did I not respond to her ministrations?

 

I told the truth. I have never been able to respond to anything other than my own hand - not that I'd tried. I wasn't sure if it was because of trauma in the past - or if it was because of the teachings of the bible - or if it was ingrained that I should wait until Marriage. She asked me what I found attractive - not what was attractive about her.

I remember the silence that filled the room when I replied.

 

_"I don't know."_

 

We spent a while, sitting silently in that barn, before she got up, and told me that it was best we break it off. She didn't need to explain. I understood perfectly. There was nothing to come from a relationship between them - no future for them, when she wanted to settle down someday, and have children - and I could not provide them.

I was sad to see her go - but at the same time, I knew it needed to happen.

  
Because I needed to find out what I - **_LeFou_** \- was interested in.

~

It was - surprisingly _easy_ to figure out. Nights were spent at the tavern, and I found myself taking note of things between the people that came and went. Lisa had great fashion sense. But that was an observation - not something about her, that appealed to me. Stanley - well. I always liked the mans hair. There was just something about how clean it always looked, and how nice it smelled, that made me want to slide my fingers through it, sniff the scent, and tug lightly at it.

_Oh._

No--- _No_ , ** _No_** , don't think like that, I told myself - before I looked into the crowd. Look! It's Arlene - the bakers daughter! Look at her with that dark hair, see how its pulled back into a ponytail - actually, if it were just a tad longer, it might match Gastons. No! I remember slapping my own face - a hand on either cheek. I was determined to find at least one thing about a woman that I could like on her, without comparing it to a man. But I found so many things. Claudette looked great in Red!

So did Gaston.

Laurette had great skill for dancing, and a great singing voice. Her skin was pale - creaming, and soft - always smelling nice thanks to the bath materials she used. Once again - my mind wandered to Stanley, who also smelled nice, and I felt as though the last year of attempting to fix myself had come undone somewhere. I eventually managed to stop comparing the women to the men. To my chagrin, I found that I was instead comparing the men to each other.

Tom and Dick were too crass. Stanley was - nice. But he was a tad too shy, a little too soft-spoken, and there was something about the lonely, lost look in his eyes, that reminded me too much of myself. But Gaston...he was something _different._ He was - tall. Strong. **_Handsome_**. With a rich, deep baritone, which made for fantastic songs. He was skilled with dance - and while he was not quite as finicky about his cleanliness as Stanley and I were, he certainly took pride in his appearance.

 _Too much pride,_ he thought at times, seeing how his friend would occasionally chat himself up in the mirror.

 

No...It was not hard at all to learn what I liked.  
But it was... _disheartening._

 

I could be glad it wasn't _love,_ at least. Just physical attraction. And that, at least, was easy enough to squash down. Besides. I could appreciate someones looks, without actually being interested in them, right? Did the fellas not look at women at the tavern, flirt casually, and then occasionally taken home completely different woman than expected?

 _Yes_ , I thought. I could _look._ But I would not permit myself to touch. I could be satisfied with that, I thought.

And for the longest time - I was content to do so.

 

~

 

Hmm?

Oh - I'm sorry, my friend - its hard to talk of these things.

Sodomity is not a common thing - and the stress of being a sodomite in later years was much more difficult than it was after my mother granted me her blessing. For you see - while she wanted me to love whoever I wished, so long as I was careful - I learned quickly _why_ I must be careful.

Let me take you back to the fall of my seventeenth year.

 

But I warn you, my friend - that what I am about to tell you, is **_not_** pleasant.

 

~

 

It was a typical day at the Tavern. Simple enough, right? People were coming and going, no one seemed to care that much - until later in the day. I was able to hear whispering, and I became curious about the dark expressions on faces that I could see. I followed their eyes.

I saw it - him. Stanley's _father._

...I don't think he's come up till now, has he? No - I've told you of Stanley's kind mother, but I never really paid attention to his father. He was always busy, always shooing us from his workplace. Stanley, though - he spent a lot of time with him. Was trying to learn the trade, so that, in the case of his fathers untimely passing, since the man took ill easily in the winter, he would be able to continue the business, and provide for his Ma'man, since his father had always been a busy man, with a lot of clients.

And right now, there he was at the back of the bar, slurring drunkenly with another male, half hidden by shadow. I remember how quiet things became as they got closer and closer - until lips made contact - and lingered for just a second too long. I could tell - clear as day, that neither man was sober - we were close enough that we could hear them mumbling the wrong names as they kissed- but no one else there stopped to listen, to question whether it was on purpose or not.

The people in the tavern saw something they didn't like - and didn't wait for an explanation.

"Sodomites!"  
  
_"Filth!"_  
  
**_"Heathens!"_**

I felt like I couldn't breathe as I watched the others haul those two out of the tavern, by their arms and hair. Before I knew what was happening, me and Stanley were chasing after, with Tom, Dick, and Gaston on our heels. We were all confused - and horrified. Because shortly, we were at the gallows - and watching as nooses were strung around both of their necks.

 _"Hang them!"_  
  
**_"Kill_ ** _them!"_

 _"Wait_ \---what about the _boy?_ Did he know of this filth? His father was training him - how do we know that he was not encouraging his boy to follow him into the devils hands?"

Stanley was dragged front and center - and forced to face the crowd. I remember the scared look on his face as he was questioned over and over again. They just wouldn't stop - questioning his innocence - until they finally drew to one final question, which drained the last of the color from my friends face.

"Do you oppose this sentence? Do you support your fathers filth?"

They were baiting him - and we - his friends, knew it. I could see it in the eyes of the mob - like a pack of murderous wolves, wanting to catch just one more prey animal. And I feared for Stanley then, who must feel even worse, trapped in the center of those accusing stares.

"N-No. I---I don't support it---I---I can't even _look_ at him."

  
_"Watch_ , boy . Watch, and remember this - we ** _don't_ ** accept his kind around here."

  
We were forced to watch as the lever was pulled, the floorboards fell, and ropes pulled tight.

 

I felt nauseous.

And so did Stanley, who fell onto his knees, and threw up at the sound of his fathers neck breaking. Gaston was quick to haul him up, arms around his middle, while I ran home to tell his mother what had happened, running so I could get there before the townspeople came to her door, and tainted her husbands name for her forever.

 

~

 

I don't think I will ever forget that scene, in all honesty. It was burned into my brain - I saw it behind my eyelids, with every blink, as I waited with my friends mother, an arm around her shoulders as she sobbed against my chest, weeping for the loss of her husband, who had been unfairly executed, without trial before a judge, all due a drunken man who had instigated a riot in the middle of the Tavern. I remember thinking that, if they had been given a chance, they would have been able to prove themselves innocent.

 

That Stanley's family could have remained whole.

 

But an _angry_ mob was an **_unreasonable_** one - and once they had their torches and pitchforks, whether in the figurative or literal sense, little could be done to change the sway of their minds. All one could do was hope their would-be victims would run and escape, or pass on quickly from their 'punishment'.

 

As I looked to the woman crying against me - I remembered how my mother had made me promise to be safe. To be careful. I swore to myself then, up and down, that I would never,  _ever_ do anything that could force her to watch the same sight someday - with me hanging in place of Monsieur Anglo, and my mother in place of Stanley.

 

~

 

When my friends brought Stanley home - he joined his mother - tears spilling from his eyes. He was still a teen - only a year younger than I, and he'd been forced to watch his father hang at the gallows - all for a crime that he never intended to commit. We found out later that both bodies were taken down and burned - a fact that made them even more upset, since they could no longer even bury their family. Gaston was particularly angered by this - and had a great and terrible shouting match with his father over it. I am certain that the entire village heard it - especially when things began to get violent. A window shattered - shouts of anger escaped the town hall, and we heard punches being thrown.

Myself, I was more worried for my friend than the Mayor.

When Gaston stormed out some time later, he had a split lip, and he was scowling. He told me how bullheaded his father had been - how he had robbed a family of the chance to mourn. The only good thing that came of it, at least, was the fact that he managed to recover Stanley's fathers personal effects - which, unsurprisingly, had been pocketed at some point during the act of moving the bodies to the burning pit. According to him - it wasn't the first time his father had taken things from the dead.

But then again - no one present as he told us of this fact was really surprised.

 

The price of things became so expensive, that the only funeral they could afford for Stanley's father, was to bury his personal effects in a box out back, beneath the old tree. Hardly anyone turned out for it - in fact, the people present could be counted on two hands. There was Stanley - his mother, myself and my mother - and then our friends. Tom played his flute - terribly - but he tried to send a good man off in his own way, because Stanley's father deserved better, and we all knew it.

 

And before long - Almost everyone in the village was having a hard time of things, with how high the taxes in the area had gotten. The local prince was looking to expand his wealth, and our small villages were those that were put through hell and back, being located closest to it. The price of eggs soared - the price of all things soared, and before long, the village had fallen to hunting and growing vegetables for food.

 

 

The worst part was - the prince was a _child._

 

A child who was ten years old, with parents who were never home, and gave him free reign with the kingdom.  
He was spoiled - a brat, through and through, who saw us all as peasants who existed only to benefit him.

 

A child's greed and selfishness could be a _terrible_ thing indeed.

 

 

It got to the point where Stanley's mother decided to take up a position at the castle. She had always been a spinster - and now, she was going to make clothing for those who worked at the castle. Ball gowns, fancy tuxedos - all the things a rich person would need. Stanley was sad to see her go, but murmured to us over a drink at the tavern that she would be better off there. Ever since the incident with his father, less and less people attended the barbers shop, until he was left with an almost exclusively female clientele.

Simply put - they could not afford to put food on the table with just his effort. And so his mother - old as she was, took her hobby, and made it a source of income.

 

She wrote Stanley every once in a while - until one day, the letters _stopped._

 

So too, did the _taxes._ Of those who were brave enough to go to the castle, to find out what had happened, only a handful returned. The woods were perilous, more so than usual - and the once grand palace was now overcast with clouds that threatened to storm. They appeared to be in a fixed position - rarely moving on - thundering almost all of the time. And the worst part was - those who returned from the castle claimed that it was empty.

What was stranger still was that - a week later, none of us could remember _why_ the castle was important.  
Surely it had _always_ been that empty and desolate.

  
Stanley had always been on his own - yes, of _course_ he must have been. His mother had disappeared - abandoned him after the grief from losing her husband made her unwilling to stay in the village that had killed him. The job at the castle - it must have been nothing more than a lie for her son to swallow, for all of us to believe. After all - there was no clothing at their house. And when it came to the pottery makers house - hadn't Mr Potts, the man who made the dishes for the village, lost his wife and child already to the plague?

 _Yes_...that was how it had gone.

 

And though it was clear no one knew _why_ we knew this, how we reached this conclusion-  
we all accepted it to be true, and moved on with our daily lives.

 

-{Chapter 4: End}-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [With chapter four, we reach a new point - the beginning of the curse over the castle. As we learned in the 2017 movie, they only remembered who they had lost once they had been exposed to to prolonged contact with the castle inhabitants, in their cursed forms. Their memories returned fully once their loved ones were human once more - and things returned to normal.
> 
> It was a tad difficult, however, to come up with a feasible reason for how people suddenly no longer remembered family and friends they had known for so long. I also struggled with figuring out how to expose LeFou to the very real threat of what could happen, were he ever to act on his feelings, and be caught at some point, or suspected of having a male lover.
> 
> As always - I hope people will enjoy the read - and welcome any feedback people would like to give on this chapter.]


	5. A slice of life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LeFou reflects upon some of the more memorable, lazy days of his life - and most bring a smile to his face.

-{Chapter 5}-

 

"LeFou!"

 

It was a sunny day outside, and I'd been hanging out by the stream outside of Conques, enjoying some sweet croissants I'd purchased from the marketplace, when I heard Stanley call out to me. Looking over my shoulder, I could see him, jogging over, with something tucked beneath one arm. It wasn't long before he was sat next to me, and started rambling about something extremely quickly - almost to fast to understand.

 

"Stanley, mon Ami, you need to slow down - you're losing me."  
"I've _finally_ done it!"  
"Done _what?"_

 

He'd looked so proud then, as he unrolled what he had with him. Puzzled, I stared at what appeared to be a loaf of raisin-embedded bread, before looking back at him. He seemed to catch on to my confusion quickly, and elaborated.

 

"I've perfected my Ma'mans recipe!   
I've been trying to nail it for years, since she won't tell me the secret ingredient - and said that I needed to figure it out for myself!"

 

I blinked. Once. Twice. The others expression shifted from excitement to slightly nervous as I tried to find an appropriate reaction. Stanley made this? But...wasn't baking something that was done by only the women in the village? Truly, I'd never heard of a man doing that, and I think he realizes, because he's getting up, apologizing for taking up my time with something so unimportant, and unbecoming of a man of the village.

I have to lean to grab his boot before he can dash off.

"Stanley! Sit down, will you? I'm not going to make fun of you for baking. Yeah, It's unexpected, but I can't make fun of you, expecially when I make _bows!"_

Stanley frowns - and I can tell he's not convinced by my words.

"So. Are you just here to torment me by waving something so delicious looking in front of my face? Or did you plan to let me have a _taste_ of that?"

That seemed to make him feel better, and he chuckles, before pulling out his pocket knife, and slicing off some for both of us. When he handed a portion over to me, I probably consumed it with the excitement of a child, based on how he stared at me with amusement.   
At one point, he even reached over, and wiped my face with his handkerchief.

 

"You're a very messy eater, LeFou."  
"Thith I'th gud!"  
"Don't talk with your mouth full."

 

Indeed - manners were sometimes things I forgot, and I mutter an apology, before continuing to chow down on that delicious raisin bread. Normally, I'm not too fond of them, but the sweetness of the bread went well with their tart flavor. It was a pleasant contrast, and after I'd finished, my stomach full, I clapped him happily on the back, thanking him once again for such a delicious treat, before a thought occurred to me.

 

"Why _me?_ "  
"Hm?"  
"Why'd you come and show me?"  
"Oh. Well...I showed Tom, and Dick...but they laughed at me. Said baking was a woman's job."

 

I frowned at that, and shook my head, patting the other mans shoulder.

 

"Don't listen to them.   
They're probably just _jealous_ that they always have to buy food from the marketplace, or live off game, because no one finds them worthy of homemade goods."

 

That got a snort from Stanley - and we both lapsed into a conversation centered around how Tom had attempted to flirt with Paulette, one of the Bimbette sisters, and ended up accidentally insulting her when he'd said she was prettier than the sister in the green dress.

What a cad, telling the girl he was trying to compliment, that her sister looked nicer. He really should have done his research on who was who, we agreed, before looking out at the stream.

 

"Say, Stanley? Who do you like?"  
"Hm?"  
"Who do you like? A guy like you, with barber skills, a great sense of fashion, and baking skills - you must have _all_ the women eyeing you as a future husband."  
 _"Eh."_

 

That...was a surprisingly lackluster response. I hadn't really expected that, and looked at him with bemusement.

 

"You sound like you're not even that _interested_ in women."  
"I'm not."

 

Now, I find myself looking at him, my lips drawn into a thin line.

 

"You're.. _not?"_

 

He shifts - somewhat uncomfortable looking as I stare at him.

 

"LeFou - I'm eighteen, and running a barber shop. I have no _time_ for women."  
 ** _"Oh."_**

 

And here, I'd been thinking, for one short second, that maybe - I'd found a kindred spirit. Of _course_ not - Stanley was obviously an eligible bachelor for any pretty woman in the village. He just didn't have the time to settle down - nor the time to give to them.   
He probably wouldn't even be able to play _'father'_ , if they were to have kids.  
  
Not to mention, he'd be the last person on earth to be a sodomite, especially after what happened with his father. I find myself strangely disappointed - but do my best not to show it. After all, the last thing I need is to accidentally reveal the fact that I'm a sodomite thanks to a misunderstanding.

 

"Well - you'll find time someday.   
And when you do settle down, maybe you'll have a little kid or two that you can pass all your recipes on to."

 

Stanley shrugs.

 

_"Maybe."_

 

There it is again - that strange, nagging feeling that there is something not quite right about it all.   
But I write it off quickly as just another bit of paranoia on my end.

 

"Nice weather we're having today, isn't it?"  
"Mhm."

  
~

  
_"LeFou!"_

 

I find myself sighing as I hear one of the Bimbettes call my name across the marketplace, and plaster a smile on my face before I turn around to greet her.

 

"Have you seen _Gaston?_ "  
"Not yet."  
"Well, when you do - please give _this_ to him. I have to go somewhere with my sisters, and I want him to have it before it I forget about it, or lose it."

 

A box is shoved into my hands, and she's running off again before I can say _'no'._ Annoyed, I look at the box - and mutter something about brainless bimbos, before I head off to the tavern. The Mayor is there, of course - and so is his son.   
They'd reconciled the winter of last year, but there is a tension between them now, that no one can really ignore.

 

"Bonjour, Gaston."  
"LeFou! Come and join me by the fire."

 

I dodged past drunks - stepped over someone lying on the floor, and went to join my friend at the fire. He's seated on the footstool that goes with his fathers armchair, and he waves towards the plush bear skin that decorates the floor, inviting me to sit.

 

"I was thinking - we should go on a hunt soon. We'll leave Dick and Tom behind - and go shoot some ducks. What do you think about that?"  
"Sounds fun. I assume you'll want me to praise your fantastic shooting?"  
"We-ll----only if you'd like to do so."

 

I can't help but snort, and shake my head, setting the box down for now. That action draws his gaze to it, and he grins, before snatching it up. He opens it, and pulls out what appears to be some kind of belt buckle.

 

"Whats this? 'I love you'? What lovely lass gave this to you, LeFou?"

 

I roll my eyes.

 

"Its not _mine,_ Gaston."  
"Its not? Then who's is it?"  
"Its for _you."_

 

"..."

 

 

After a moment, I glance over to see his face. Its a strange mixture of - uncertainty - _fear_ , and...something _else,_ as he looks back and forth between the buckle and me. Instantly, I knew what he must be thinking, and wave my hands.

 

  
"Oh---no. _No_ , get that thought out of your head. Its from _Claudette_ \- she had to go shopping with her sisters, and wanted me to pass it on to you!"

 

Some kind of relief passed over his face, and he gave a nervous laugh.

  
"Right--- _of course._ Sorry, old friend."  
"Come on, Gaston - you know me better than _that."_  
"Yes, Yes. I apologize, LeFou. Please forgive me for making that accusation. I know a man like _you_ would never think to fall for another man. You were there, same as _I_ was, so many years ago, when Stanley's father was hung at the gallows."

 

I looked at the fire.

 

"Yeah. I was. And I remember."  
"A tragic thing, that. He wasn't one of those filthy sodomites - and no one gave him a chance to prove his innocence. I still remember Stanley's face."  
 _"...Yeah."_

 

I feel a bit nauseous now - my good mood spoiled.   
It takes a minute to get up, especially after noticing the back of my vest had gotten snagged on the bearskin, before I stand up.

 

"Let me know when you want to go shoot ducks."  
"You're leaving already?  
"I only came here to drop off Claudettes gift, Gaston."  
"You say that, but your _tone_ doesn't agree with your words."  
"Gaston - you know I don't like talking about Stanley's father. I don't like talking about _any_ of the deaths I've had to bear witness to in the village."  
"Right - right. I'm sorry, mon ami."  
"...I-Its fine. But I _do_ need to leave."  
"LeFou--"  
"I'll see you soon."

 

I turned, and left the tavern, feeling my heart beat painfully in my chest. It had not been a good feeling, seeing the others expression as he looked between me and Claudette's engraved belt buckle. After that - I knew full well that I must keep it hidden.  
My friend - he called sodomites _filthy_. Same as the rest of the village did.

It hurt more than I thought, to realize that he would look at me with the same disgust as the villagers would, if the truth were ever to come to light about me.

 

  
~

 

  
**_"LeFou!"_ **

A week had passed since that unpleasant conversation in the tavern. 

Gaston was yelling something, and honestly - I was a bit too preoccupied with not falling off of Cole, my charcoal colored horse. A duck that had flown out of the reeds by the stream had startled him, and I was shrieking obscenities as he galloped along, my body bouncing this way and that, one leg hooked over the saddle, my ankle caught in the stirrups, while I clung to the reigns.

 

How utterly _undignified._

 

Gaston was riding behind me, trying to catch up, calling out to my horse and trying to soothe the creature so he'd stop trying to throw me off completely.

It took a full minute of riding before he managed to grab the reigns, and save me from my predicament - stopping Cole long enough that he could reach for me. His hands were strong and held me tight around my middle as he hauled me back atop the stallion. My face was red with embarrassment, and from having blood in my head for so long, dangling half upside-down as I had been. Dazed - all I could do was sit there as Gaston led us back to the campsite, and then helped me off my horse. I'm ashamed to admit that I could do little more than cling on, and groan weakly at first.

 

He told me to take it easy - supplying me with some bread to help me settle my stomach. It helped somewhat, and I thanked him through a mouthful. Unlike Stanley, Gaston only laughs, rather than reminding me to eat like a gentleman.

 

Afterwards, I looked to him, and sighed.

 

"I'm sorry, Gaston. All of that nonsense wasted a lot of our day - and I'm _sore_ all over, to boot."  
"Its _fine,_ mon ami - you couldn't have known that duck was there."  
"I should have trained Cole better when he was a colt."  
"LeFou - you need to cease this habit of _blaming_ yourself for everything. You can't predict when you'll be surprised by a duck, any more than I could have done."

 

I sigh - but a smile does form on my face.   
Gaston really did know how to make me feel better, even when I felt as though I'd botched the entire hunting trip.

 

"Besides - any anger I would have had was cancelled out by the sight of you _dangling."_  
 _"Gaston!"_

 

He laughs - and I push at him, laughing along with him after a minute. Its _good,_ I think, having a friend that I can joke about in such a way. The rest of the afternoon goes quite well, actually, especially when we both manage to bag another duck before returning to the village. On the way home, Gaston whistles - and I find myself bobbing my head to the tune. Its _catchy,_ in all honesty. I feel as though it might make a good song.

 

I make a mental note to come up with some lines to go with that melody later - and later in the year, I would find myself with an easily improvised song.

 

**_Gastons_** _song._

 

And I sung it whenever my friend seemed to be having a terribly awful day. It was cheesy to the extreme, to sing and dance - but it always worked. Some called me a fool for going to such lengths - others called me odd, and a bit... _queer._

But honestly?   
They could call me whatever they wanted.

 

Because I would rather be a fool that liked to sing and dance, than just another _boring_ face in the crowd, with nothing particularily interesting about them.

 

-{Chapter 5: End}-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Okay, okay. After so many chapters of pain for LeFou, I wanted to have this one be a bit lighter of a read. So we get a look into his interactions with Stanley and Gaston, when things are more relaxed and stress-free.]

**Author's Note:**

> [This is my first time writing from the standpoint of LeFou, and I hope that people will be patient with me as I update it. Comments are more than welcome, as I am a little uncertain of what I'm doing, and I hope the chapters aren't too over the top.]


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